


Fiasco and other 'F' words

by AwkwardFortuna



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I promise I'll edit in the morning), Character Study, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Family Dinners, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Mention of a queer slur!, One Shot, Past Abuse, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Tag, hand holding, please heed that, this bad boy can fit so many run-on sentences in it!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardFortuna/pseuds/AwkwardFortuna
Summary: It’s just that this isn’t the first time that John Winchester has bullied Dean into a corner before, forcing him to give up the game or give in to the consequences and Dean- well, he doesn’t want to do that anymore. He doesn’t want to give people up just because his dad said so. Not with Cas. Never with Cas. And he’s so glad -so fucking glad- that Cas took the lead on this one because despite all of his bravado, despite all of the years that Dean’s spent building himself up, John still scares him, and Dean isn’t sure what to do with that piece of information.Or,Cas kicks John out before a family dinner. That's it. That's the fic.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 74





	Fiasco and other 'F' words

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a character study fic I wrote. It's short. It's sweet. and not meant to hold a steady narrative and it's probably just me projecting onto Dean Winchester again (ew) but I hope you guys can enjoy it! 
> 
> Also! Trigger warning for use of the f-slur in this fic! Plz be warned!

John laughs and says “you’re kidding me, right?” and his eyes wrinkle at the corners just like Dean’s do. _“Dean?...”_ he sounds incredulous, like someone just told him that the sky is yellow or that Dean sold the Impala. “...as one of those limp-wristed pansy asses!? With an _angel_ ?” John slaps his knee and lets out a _guffaw._

Sam’s jaw twitches.

Around clenched teeth he says “It’s not a joke, dad.” 

And John’s laughter quiets down into a soft chuckle. He eyes Sam with a quirk of his brow and there’s a bit of humor there, mixed with something dangerous tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s thinkin’ that maybe, just maybe, his boys are still foolin’ with him, but Sam’s glower never changes and when John turns to Dean it is with a sudden laser-sharp focus that makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

“It’s a joke. Right Dean? You’re not one of _those,_ are you?” 

John’s got his hunters' gaze on him now, the kind of stare he gets when he’s hunting down monsters, all ruthless and predatory-like, grinning with all of his teeth and none of the humor.

“Am I...” Dean clears his throat. When he invited John over this was _not_ how it was supposed to go. “Am I what, sir?”

“A faggot.”

Castiel goes rigid, his hands curl into fists and Dean can’t- he just- he only wanted to have dinner with everyone together for once and if he doesn’t pull the chicken out of the oven now it’s gonna get all dry and chewy soon and-

John slams his hands down on the kitchen table. “Answer me, boy!” he shouts, in the same exact tone that he saves purely for Dean’s irrevocable fuck-ups and it makes him feel like a kid again (all godamned small and worthless.) and _he’s not_. Dean is a far cry from the child that he used to be and he _knows_ that John can’t separate him from Sammy or leave him on the side of the road with two nickels to his name and nothing but the clothes on his back anymore.

Dean’s a _grown fucking man_ and he hasn’t been told off or punished by his father in _years;_ but something in John’s eyes, the clench of his fists and the sound of his voice, has got Dean all fuckin' twisted up inside. It's like he’s a twenty-something year old kid again; begging for approval and _fuck-_ he’s moved past this. He’s _not_ a kid and John can’t punish him. Dean knows it- but still, when John stands from the table, scooting the chair back in a harsh drag against the tile floor, he flinches.

The air in the bunker gets _sharp._ It gets _heavy._ Like ozone right before a thunderstorm.  
  
Sam jumps from his chair in order to pull John back but Castiel beats him to it.  
  
Lightning quick, Cas grabs John by the shoulder and he’s shoving him out of the kitchen like he doesn’t weigh a damn thing. Cas is human now, has been for a while, but he’s still so strong (a lot stronger than Dean anyways,) and sometimes he still moves in a way that is not entirely human, like he’s unaware of his own limitations. 

Needless to say, John’s pinwheeling arms and dragging feet do nothing against the unstoppable force that _is_ Castiel. 

“You’re just gonna let this-this _thing_ treat your father like this!?” John screams and for a moment, Dean can see the hesitation in Cas, like he’s unsure if he’s overstepped and shit- he has. _He really fucking has_ but- but Dean doesn’t actually mind it (and what the hell does that say about him?) Cas glances back and tilts his head in a subtle question that Dean doesn’t know how to answer (he couldn’t even if he tried,) so he just... _doesn’t._ And with a nod in his direction, Cas tosses John out of the front door, practically slamming it shut in his face.

The sudden silence is deafening.  
  
Sam glances wide-eyed between them, and Dean doesn’t really know what to say so he doesn’t say a damned thing. Wordlessly, he goes over to the oven, grabs his gloves, and pulls out the chicken which is now fifteen minutes past the recommended baking time and it’s overly charred on top. Dry as fucking rocks. Black as bones turned to ashes.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Sam asks.

And what the fuck kind of question is that? it’s- It’s an _inconsequential_ one, is what it is. There are more important things for Dean to worry about right now, like figuring out how the hell he’s gonna fix dinner within the fucking hour.  
  
Sam tries again, voice all worried and eyes like a kicked puppy. “ _Dean?”_  
  
“Perhaps it’s best if you set the dining room table, Sam,” Cas says, and Dean feels the relief wash over him in waves. “I’ll help your brother.”

Sam glances between them and there’s a terrifying moment where Dean thinks he’s not gonna budge, but then he lets out a deep breath and his hair flutters on his exhale when Sam says “Uh, yeah. Okay Dean. _Okay.”_ Voice all soft like he _understands._

Sam leaves without another word and it’s just Dean and Cas and the silence now. He’s thankful when Cas doesn't break it. Instead, he fits right in to Dean’s quiet, moving in and out of his space to hand him the things that he wordlessly asks for.

*

Dinner goes surprisingly well. 

No one seems to be able to tell that Dean had to half-ass a couple of side dishes to go with the chicken fiasco but that’s all fine and dandy, because the only thing anyone says about it is that _‘it’s good’_ and no one pays any mind to the slightly burnt taste or the smell of smoke still lingering in the air.

(No one says a thing about the empty seat, either.) 

*

They’re cleaning up, just Dean and Cas, when Cas suddenly says “I’m sorry if I’ve made things harder for you with your father.”  
  
And Dean lets the plates in his hands fall to the table with a gentle _clack._

“It’s- _don’t_. Don’t do that, don't apologize.” Dean stutters. “It’s not your fault, Cas. He can be- he can be an ass sometimes and it had nothing to do with you. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“And it isn’t yours either.”  
  
“Right,” Dean grunts, picking up the plates again. They’re cream colored with little flowers and birds painted on the sides of it. They were a gift from Eileen. John would’ve hated it. “I know that,” Dean sighs. “I know... it’s just-” 

It’s just that this isn’t the first time that John Winchester has bullied Dean into a corner before, forcing him to give up the game or give in to the consequences and Dean- well, he doesn’t want to _do_ that anymore. He doesn’t want to give people up just because his dad said so. Not with Cas. _Never_ with Cas. And he’s so glad _-so fucking glad-_ that Cas took the lead on this one because despite all of his bravado, despite all of the years that Dean’s spent building himself up into the man that he is today _John still scares him,_ and Dean isn’t sure what to do with that piece of information.

Before he can dwell on it further, Cas is making his way over to him, picking up the forks and spoons left over from the cherry pie dessert that Dean had made. Their hands are close enough that Dean can feel the warmth of him when he reaches for the cutlery and Dean lets his thumb graze over the back of Cas’s hands.

He has scars now. Tiny little white lines and calluses that refuse to fade. Dean wants to touch them all, he wants to memorize the feel of them.

“Thank you," Dean says, not in words, but with the gentle way that he holds Castiel's hands in his own. 


End file.
